She was incredible in the same way as Jupiter, the way it’s there, six hundred million miles away at perihelion, right in plain sight which isn’t plain at all – no, it’s miraculous, the fact that we inhabit a space so infinite, that we can see something so distant just by looking up, but never reach it. It makes a kind of roaring in my ears, knowing that. Sometimes the Universe is too much.
But under the hard blue skies of summer days at work (when I remember I miss her), a baby junco chirping up at me, the heavy smell of horses and creosote, my stained hands and a smushed brush, and miles of weathered fences planted in the thick of irrepressible creation
will do just fine.